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THE PENNSYLVANIA REPORTER
Harrisburg, January 15, 1841
From the New York Enquirer.
LATER FROM ENGLAND.
The packet ship Oxford, Capt. Rathbone, arrived yesterday from Liverpool, in the very short passage of twenty-one days, having sailed on the 20th ultimo. The London dates received by her are to the 19th of last month.
FUNERAL OF NAPOLEON
Paris, December 15.
At 8 o'clock this morning, numbers of persons were already assembled at the door leading to the Church of the Invalides, which was not opened till 9. Great confusion was occasioned by carts of sand that went in every five minutes, throwing back back the crowd and frightening people to death.
At last the doors were thrown open and, after rushing about through endless long passages, we found ourselves in the interior of the beautiful chapel of the Invalides. The effect was most striking. The whole of the nave carpeted in black, with seats arranged en amphitheatre on each side, filled with military, and up the side aisles, between the pillars, were numerous rows of benches, all occupied by a multitude in deep mourning. Between the pillars were hung black draperies embroidered with silver borders and deep silver fringe, a large lustre hung in the centre of each, whose many lights shone brilliantly in relief against the dark draperies. The pillars were ornamented with gilded trophies, the names of Napoleon's victories; Austerlitz, Wagram, &c., and on each side of the pillars were three large tri-colored flags.
The upper tribunes, containing thousands of people, were also hung with black, embroidered with silver border and golden emblems, and, surmounting each division in the tribunes, was a black medallion, surrounded with laurels, on which were inscribed in golden letters the principal acts of the Emperor's life, such as the peace of Amiens, and Luneville. Above these medallions, and extending all round the nave, were immense numbers of flags taken from the enemy in different battles.
From the door of entrance up to the rails of the choir, were placed at short distances, enormous candelabras, twelve or fourteen feet high, from which issued brilliant colored flames.
The choir and dome, which for perhaps more than half the church, separated from the nave by a flight of steps, were hung with purple cloth from the ground to the summit, and brilliantly lighted by hundreds of lustres. In the centre of the choir, in front of the altar, was erected the splendid catafalque, a representation in gilded wood of the tomb that is to be erected in marble, supported by four pillars and surmounted by a golden eagle with out-spread wings. At 1 o'clock the cannon announced the departure of the King for the Tuileries, and at 2, the procession entered the church, headed by the Prince de Joinville, with the 200 mariners of the Belle Poule, remarkably handsome looking men. The clergy, headed by the Archbishop of Paris, awaited the arrival of the body. This was decidedly the most striking and beautiful moment of the whole ceremony, the steps leading up to the choir, lined on both sides with the military and the old Invalides, so many of whom had fought under Napoleon; the whole of the aisle filled on both sides with troops, and all down the centre of the steps and part of the aisle, the body of clergy standing in religious silence, awaiting the entrance of the cortege. The archbishop's attitude would have made a lovely picture — his eyes fixed on the cross, that was carried on high before him, and his hands joined in prayer, apparently heedless of the crowds around him, called one's thoughts from the pageantry of the scene to higher things.
Most of the Cures of Paris were also in the procession, and the appearance of so many of those good ministers of peace among the multitu de of military, formed a beautiful and striking contrast. The drums rolled, the cannons shook the old wall of the Invalides, and then the muffled drums came slowly and solemnly up the aisle. At last the coffin came in sight, borne by several of the marines of the Belle Poule and some of the old Invalides, and the four corners, by his old friends Bertrand, Marchand, Las Cases, and _____. The coffin was covered with purple velvet and a large white cross, and the imperial crown was laid on it, covered with black crape. The moment the coffin passed, there was a strong demonstration of enthusiasm and acute feeling; every one rose up and bend forward, but not a word was uttered; a religious silence prevailed. In front of the magnificent white and gold organ was erected a large platform for the musicians, and as soon as the body was brought up to the choir and the mass began, Mozart's celebrated Requiem was performed by all the principal singers of the Italian and French operas.
An interesting sight also was the arrival of the venerable old Marechal Moncey, who had long since expressed his ardent wish that he might live to see this day. He is in a very infirm state, and they say has been nursing himself with great care, to be able to encounter the fatigue of being present to receive the remains of his beloved master. He arrived in a chair on wheels, and was, with great difficulty, lifted up the steps into the choir. It was a curious incident in the beginning of the day to see the little bustling M. Thiers strutting about in his cloak, and collecting a crowd round him in the middle of the church to hear him talk with M. Mole, as if he had been in the salon. The crowd augmented every moment, and on every side people whispered voyez la cour autour de M. Thiers. I must not forget to mention the effect of the altar, which was glorious; numbers of silver hanging lamps, of the most elegant form, were suspended in front of it, and the altarpiece itself was of silver, a sort of chiseled silver on a purple velvet ground.
On each side of the altar and around the catafalque were tribunes and benches; in one of the tribunes hung with purple cloth, were the King and the Ministers, and in the other, the Infanta of Spain; and every corner of the immense building was full from 9 in the morning till half-past 5, in spite of the cold, which was intense.
The cold was indeed bitter for those to whom tickets had been allotted for the tribunes that occupied each side of the avenue leading up the esplanade of the Invalides from the quay to the great gate; but the crowd bore the biting frost with patience, for it was decidedly one of the very best positions for seeing the funeral procession pass.
The stands were already filled by 11 o'clock, and it was not until 2 o'clock that the procession reached the quay. Never was sigh during this interval of three mortal hours less appropriate to the occasion that the spectacle we had before us. The intense cold rendered movement necessary for fear of being frozen to the spot, and to keep themselves warm, the spectators in the stands began to dance. The manta gained the crowd below, and for a long time the troops of the line and the National Guards, were joing in one general contredance, or an enormous ronde a la main. This preliminary orgie, while waiting for the body of the great hero of their nation, and in the face of the long line of statues of their greatest warriors, struck us as particularly French — perhaps we mean inconsistent.
Apropos of the long line of warrior statues that lined the avenue, the idea struck us as good. These heros seemed placed there to receive the last, and perhaps greatest, warrior of the nation, as he was restored, in death, to his country. They may have been coarsely executed for the greater part, but this succession of warriors, from Charlemagne and clovis, down to the last Generals of the Empire, placed upon the passage of the Emperor to salute him as he passed to his last home, was well conceived. But why place Napoleon is his imperial robes, at the end, to greet himself! A gamin near us shouted , as the procession passed, "Tiens! Voila comme l'Empereur fait la queue a lui meme!" Till the procession really reached this spot, the hours of impatient waiting were long; the dancing, however, which we have already described, whiled away the time of some, and the cannon fired from the first court of the Invalides, every quarter of an hour seemed to warm the hearts, if not the limbs, of others.
For our parts, the cannon had one great advantage, the rich clouds of rolling smoke that they had sent forth hid from our eyes, for a time, the bare poles and skeleton scaffolding of the half-draped spars that were announced in the programme as a triumphal funeral entrance to the Invalides. Nothing could be more paltry, more ugly, more disgraceful than this ragged-looking curtain to the great drama that was to be acted. Ten workmen might have completed, in time, what it was impossible for three to finish, as they went through their lazy movements, seemingly as if they had received orders not to have in done in time. The very firepots that occupied the tripods at the top of the two entrance gateposts of plated half-gilt wood, seemed as if they, too, had received orders not to burn and only to smoke.
The same ordre du jour was zealously observed by the other candelabra that alternated with the statues along the avenue leading to the Invalides, and that smoked instead of blazing, and went out before the funeral procession arrived. The day, before the procession reached us, had cleared up beautifully. A small quantity of snow had fallen, but the Heavens did more for the solemnity of the ceremony than man had done. The day, as far as the season of the year would admit of, was a day such as proverbially graced Napoleon's fetes in his imperial splendor, and greeted him again, as he received his last honors. We heard it called a "Napoleonic day."
From the point of view of the esplanade of the Invalides, the coup d'œil of the procession was magnificent. It was perhaps the best situation for seeing it pass. The sight was really grand as the procession headed the funeral car along the vista leading to that splendid building at its termination. The funeral car we have said — but this epithet might have been left aside, for, splendid as was the machine that bore the Emperor's coffin, it was a triumphal car in truth, but had but few attributes of a funeral nature.
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